Children of Azkaban
by Peace-Dove969
Summary: Summary: Born in Azkaban, Harry and his friend know nothing else but the prison and its Dementors. When they are discovered, the wizarding world is shown how large the consequences of a mistake can be...
1. Chapter 1

Children of Azkaban

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Hogwarts' School of Witchcraft and Wizardry stood tall and proud, bathed in the shadows of the dusky sky. Lights shone from almost every window, and people could be seen through the panelled glass, laughing, walking, running, studying. It was a typical Wednesday evening, and everyone was feeling relaxed and safe. Not even the growing threat of the wizard known as You-Know-Who was disturbing the tranquil air of the school.

Lily Potter smiled as she gazed at the students in the Great Hall, eating among their fellows happily, and chattering like a flock of starlings. Really, it was kind of Albus to ask them to stay in Hogwarts after Godric's Hollow, the house they were going to hide in, was blown up by Death Eaters who thought that they were inside. How they had discovered it, nobody knew, but everyone agreed that they had had a lucky escape.

Her recently married husband, James, was talking animatedly with Sirius and Remus, two of his three best friends. Peter Pettigrew, the third of said friends, was somewhere else in the castle, having decided to eat his dinner alone. She couldn't help but feel glad. Peter made her feel nervous, with his constantly darting eyes and twitching nose. Lily knew that she was being silly, and so she never mentioned it to James. But something about Peter made her blood run cold.

Shaking her head, Lily returned to her meal of juicy roast potatoes and pork, compliments of the house elves that worked in the school kitchens. It would do her no good to dwell on such thoughts. James trusted Peter, as did Albus, Minerva, and Mad-Eye. Surely they could be counted on to know who was trustworthy, and who was false.

Deciding to put the matter out of her mind, she turned to Pomona and engaged her in a conversation about the plants in Greenhouse Three.

While she nodded along to Pomona's description of the Venomous Tentacula, her mind wandered to the previous morning. She had got up with morning sickness, and had spent what felt like an hour vomiting. Hope had began to wind its way around her heart. Lily had never really planned for early motherhood, but with the war going on, she might never have a chance at it again, especially with James as an Auror. She would need to check with St. Mungos, but she was almost positive that she was pregnant. She wondered what James would say if the answer was yes.

Further down the table, Sirius was arguing with Remus. "For the last time, Moony, I can so cast a heating charm!"

Remus laughed. "I never said that you couldn't, Padfoot, only that your heating charms tend to go wrong."

Sirius gave him a sneer worthy of Severus, and raised his long black wand. An explosion of orange sparks danced from the wand's tip, settling over the room like dandelion seeds blown by a playful child. As soon as they touched a surface, the sparks exploded, leaving a hot sensation. At first the temperature remained pleasantly warm, but as more sparks exploded, the room started to reach a state of unbearable heat.

Lily began sweating badly, her soft red hair going damp and floppy. She was wearing flowing robes of a creamy shade which, though they looked pretty, were very thick and rather stifling in the heat. She wriggled in an attempt to get comfortable, but that just made her hotter. She cursed herself for not thinking of bringing a wand to the feast - she had not thought it necessary, with the castle being the safest place on Earth, but she could have really used a cooling charm. Eventually she couldn't take it anymore, and left the Great Hall to change.

Albus had been very generous when he provided their quarters. It was a large airy room, with a plush red carpet and gold patterned rug set before a carved marble fireplace. A stout four-poster bed with ruby hangings sat in one corner of the room, and next to it was a dark polished wardrobe, overflowing with their clothes - well, overflowing with mostly James's clothes. He had the largest collection of outfits that she had ever seen in a male, not to mention the hair products and skin care potions.

The bathroom was in more muted shades than the main room, with the colour scheme comprised of soft blue and white. In it there was a bathtub that an entire Quidditch team could sit down comfortably in, an ornate mirror rimmed with gold, and shiny white tiles that you could eat off, so througholy polished were they by the house-elves.

Running the cold tap, Lily splashed water on her face, and changed her thick sweater to a plain blue T-shirt. She still liked Muggle clothes, no matter how much James scoffed at them. Witch robes were just too unpractical in fights, and besides, she never really was the kind of girl who liked to wear dresses.

She opened the glass bathroom door to return to the feast, though she wasn't feeling very hungry. But before she could move, she heard a muffled thump, and the rushing sound of a spell being cast. Lily felt her heart beat faster, and she broke into a run. Everyone should be in the Great Hall, so no one should be casting spells. That meant that either someone had sneaked off to perform a pranking spell, or...

Lily didn't want to think about the 'or'.

Racing around a corner, Lily almost skidded into a wall, barely managing to keep her balance. She smiled in relief - then gasped in horror when she saw what was in front of her.

Madame Smith, the school nurse, was lying spread-eagled on the ground. Her brown eyes, normally so warm and caring, stared unseeing at her, as if her eyes had been snatched away and replaced with dirt filled marbles. Her face was still twisted in surprise, and Lily noted bitterly that she hadn't reached for her wand. But the corpse, horrifying as it was, was not what had made Lily gasp. It was the fact that Peter - Peter, James's friend, Peter, the boy who couldn't say boo to a goose! - was standing over her, smirking. His sleeve was pushed back, and the Dark Mark, obviously branded on recently, could be seen clearly on his chubby arm.

Lily automatically went for her wand, though in the back of her mind, she didn't really know what to do. But of course it wasn't with her. She'd left it in her quarters, never dreaming that she would need it in Hogwarts, the safest place on Earth. Peter laughed, and Stunned her. He needed someone to take the blame in order to remain a good spy, and Lily fit the bill.

He bent down and began to wave his wand over her milky white arm. Peter had never been a good student, but he knew enough to be able to cast a temporary skin tattoo. He smirked to himself. Now it was up to James's talent of jumping to conclusions.


	2. Chapter 2

Children of Azkaban

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

* * *

Lily tried to focus. Her vision was blurry, and her head was pounding, as if thousands of people wearing steel boots were dancing in her brain. There was a coppery taste in her mouth, and she winced when she realized that she'd bitten her tongue.

From what Lily could tell, she was sitting on a hard chair, and her hands were tied behind her back. Lily shook her head, and her vision cleared. She was in a small grey brick room, with two chairs and a metal table. The door was buzzing with magic, and she drew in her breath as she recognized the sign engraved into it. She was in a Ministry holding cell. But why?

The door swung open, and her head whipped up. James stalked in, unimaginable hate and rage on his face. Lily shrank back as he slammed his fist down on the table. "Why, Lily? Why did you do it?"

"Do what?" She asked, feeling confused. James's hazel eyes were cold with loathing as he sneered. "You're one of them. A Death Eater. Filthy Mudblood, how could you kill a defenceless old woman?"

Lily felt shocked. "James let out a cold laugh. "Is this some sick game, Lily? Peter would never go over to the Dark. Unlike you."  
Unlike her? Lily stared at James, appalled. How could he think that? How could James think that she would join the ones who wanted to massacre all Muggleborns, including her? She tried to speak, but no words would come. James seemed to take that as an admission of her guilt. He leaned across the table and smirked. "If it was up to me, you'd get the Kiss. But Dumbledore thinks that you should be given another chance. So it's straight to Azkaban with you!"

Lily felt an icy clutch of fear in her stomach. Azkaban! Like most witches and wizards, she knew of the dreaded prison, but she had never in her worst nightmares dreamed of entering it. And now she was being sent there, despite her innocence. Before she could move, James stood up, and walked out, slamming the door behind him. Lily slumped over, weeping. Why had they thought her to be a Death Eater? There was no evidence, and she had certainly never wanted to be a Death Eater-  
During her furious brain-storm, she glanced down at her arm. And screamed.

Black as soot, with the forked tongue of the snake flickering over her elbow, the Dark Mark leered back at her.


	3. Chapter 3

Children of Azkaban

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Not my sandbox, just my sandcastle.

* * *

Every wizard feared Azkaban. It was partly why so many of the wizarding world's population just followed their leaders like sheep - they were afraid that if they put one toe out of line, the government could find an excuse to chuck them into the dark prison, forgotten by everyone while they languished in a sea of torment.

It was situated on a small rocky island, with a small beach that had sand the colour of freshly spilt blood, the rock pools filled with bronze sharp-clawed crabs and sinewy fish with jagged teeth. By day, mist swept over the island, obscuring it from the view of outsiders. At night, gales buffeted the land while huge waves crashed against the spiky rocks poking through the black water like the fingernails of a giant hag. Storms were common, and rumour had it that the weather was enchanted to make sure that none but the most heavily spelled boats could make it through the wild sea.

Azkaban itself was eerily beautiful, in the way that a blazing fire is beautiful, or a gleaming sword before it pierced your heart. The bricks were crafted from shining obsidian that was magically strengthened to keep the prisoners locked safely away. It looked like the castle of an evil wizard, with slender towers that were capped by pointed roofs, thick walls decorated with ancient runes long forgotten by everyone else, and carved skulls that sat on every available ledge, grinning madly and giving off horrible shrieks when they were touched.

Behind Azkaban was a cemetery, filled with hundreds of graves, a testimony to the fact that to be sent to Azkaban was inevitably a death sentence if the prisoner remained there too long. People like Albus Dumbledore shrank at the idea of giving prisoners a swift death, citing it as too harsh. Yet they had no problem throwing them into a hell-hole where they would die a painfully slow death, most of them insane long before their due time. But seeing as they did not end the prisoners' lives directly, the people of the wizarding world slept soundly in their beds, while in Azkaban, the prisoners screamed in agony as their worst memories were dragged through their heads over and over again.

Beyond the cemetary was the area known as the 'Dementor Den'. It was an underground cave where the dark creatures flocked, and it held many more than those that patrolled Azkaban. It was there that the Dementors rested, settled disputes, and ate their meals...consisting of bone, flesh, blood, and a tender soul on the side. No humans ever saw the inside of the den and came out alive.

Inside, the prison was dark and gloomy. The corridors twisted together in an intricate maze to prevent would-be escapees from remembering the way out, and of course, every corridor was lined with narrow cells, complete with silver bars that gave off violent magical shocks when someone tried to break through them forcefully. Even the staff slept in cells, the only difference being that their cells were magically enlarged, were considerably more comfortable, and lacked bars. The one exception was the Prison Matron who slept in the hospital wing, and she was envied by everyone.

In total, there were 564 prisoners in Azkaban, 182 human staff, and 701 Dementors, and over 498 of the prisoners were insane. The rest of them were Death Eaters who were too busy plotting to escape to succumb to insanity. Or they were insane before they went in there. One of the two.

Lily shivered as she was led past the cells, with only the prison guard and his Patronus to protect her. Through the bars of each cell, skeletal hands were stretched out, some begging for food, others reaching for the Patronus as if they could keep some of its protection by touching the silvery bear. But it was to no avail, the guard simply shot hot sparks at the prisoners until they withdrew, crying as they nursed burnt flesh.

Eventually they stopped by an empty cell, with slime dripping down the walls and a bed-mat thriving with fleas. The guard shoved her in and the door slammed shut behind her, locking magically. Lily stifled a sob, wrapping her arms around her knees. She had been abandoned by everyone she had cared about, for something she didn't do. Now Peter was still free, no doubt intending to wreak havoc upon the Light forces, and there was nothing she could do about it.

* * *

Months passed. Lily measured time by the bowls of slop pushed through the door, and the prisoners dragged to the Dementor's private den, often kicking and screaming. Those who were taken never came back.

Lily did not look like the pretty young witch who had married James Potter less than a year ago. Her once shining auburn hair had turned into a mess of silver tangles, her cheeks were sunken, and her eyes were dark with grief, brought on by the Dementors that patrolled the corridors. But while the rest of her shrank, her stomach swelled, and the child growing inside her often kicked, as if to reassure her that it was still there for her. She had discovered that she was pregnant just two months into her imprisonment, confirming what she already thought. Of course, she didn't find out via a test - she only knew she was having a child when the kicking began.

Another Dementor passed her cell, and Lily closed her eyes as another wave of agony and torment washed over her. Just before she slumped into unconscioness, she felt the baby kick again. Reassuring her that everything would be okay.

* * *

Bellatrix sneered at the prisoners cowering in the corner of their cramped cell, her tattered dress sweeping the floor as she stalked up and down. The fools in the corner would be punished when they were retrieved by their master. It was them who ruined the mission, them who got her captured. Her fingers twitched, longing for a wand so she could Crucio them to insanity.

But the fools were not her main concern. She had done something unforgivable, at least in her husband's eyes. Her Lord had called her to his bed, and what disloyalty would it have been if she did not obey? He would have murdered her for disobeying, though he wouldn't have had to threaten her. Bellatrix had not slept with Rodolphus for eight years, and she longed for someone to share her bed with. But something had come out of that incident, something growing inside her right now. The incident had been seven months ago, so she didn't really have that long. It would not be a good thing if she was rescued from Azkaban in the middle of labour. All she could do was pray that her master would come for her soon.


	4. Chapter 4

Children of Azkaban

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

* * *

"ARRGGGGHHHHH!"

Bellatrix's hands gripped the narrow metal bars that framed the hospital bed she lay on, while the scowling Prison Matron bustled about, pulling out what looked like torture instruments, though the Death Eater knew that they were in fact items to make the birthing process go smoothly.

She had started to go into labour two hours ago, just as the guard opened the door to push food in. Recognizing the symptoms, he had swiftly carried her to the hospital wing, depositing her on a bed with a look of disgust. As much as she hated the Prison Wardens, Bellatrix was deeply grateful for them - the fools imprisoned with her had not realized what was going on, but even they would have figured it out when the baby was born, and that would have led to very awkward questions.

"Push!"

Bellatrix resisted the urge to claw the woman's eyes out, and concentrated on getting the child out of her.

"Push!"

"I AM pushing, you ignorant Mudblood!"

The Matron hissed in annoyance. She was in fact a half-blood, but that didn't matter so much as the fact that Bellatrix was screaming fit to wake the dead, and screams tended to attract Dementors, something that could harm the baby. There was a reason why prisoners in Azkaban quickly learned to be quiet - it was a basic survival skill.

Matron Charon was sixty-three, and she'd worked in Azkaban for over forty-one years. During that time she'd done everything from patching bruises to force-feeding prisoners nutrient potions, from mending a spinal injury to ending the life of a Kissed prisoner. She hadn't done all that by being soft, and she was tempted - very tempted - to show Mrs. Lestrange why Dementors avoided her hospital wing while she wasn't there. The fat bun of silver hair at the back of her head, and her shapeless black dress and white apron gave her a look of vunerability that fooled her opponents until it was too late. But reducing the Death Eater to a bloody mess on the ground could harm the child, so she swallowed her pride, and concentrated on the birth.

Blood was congealing on the crisp white sheets of the hospital bed, forcing the Matron to give Bellatrix several blood-replenishing potions, the dusty glasses clinking like death chimes as she was forced to pour more and more down the Death Eater's throat. Due to inbreeding, pure-blooded women tended to have trouble with birthing. But as much as the nurse hated to admit it, Bellatrix was a fighter. She'd survive, unlike many of her unfortunate victims.

Lightning crackled in the black sky while rain lashed the hospital window panes. Bellatrix looked at the storm raging outside, admiring its lethal beauty. That was how her master was in battle, angry, powerful, unstoppable. Would their child be like that? She hoped so - the pain was too much for her to bear a cowering weakling.

Eventually, a dark head started to emerge from Bellatrix's thrashing body, followed by blood-soaked limbs. The Matron worked quickly, dragging the infant out, cutting the cord with a swift Severing charm. The baby let out a loud crystal-clear wail, letting the world know that it was alive and intended to stay so for a long time. Despite herself, the old woman smiled. There was nothing like hearing the fruit of your efforts pay off, knowing that you have successfully brought another life into the world. Taking a deep breath, she turned the child over and examined it.

The baby was a girl. An exquisitely beautiful girl with soft pink lips and shiny eyes. Her hair was black and slightly curly, like her mother. Her skin was as pale as the moon shining outside, while her eyes were dark, like polished ebony. But while the hair and eyes were definitely Bellatrix's, the rest of her clearly came from her father, whoever he was.

While she checked the infant over, the Matron noticed something odd. On the child's left shoulder was an elaborate 'S', the ends curling over, almost touching but not quite. It was almost serpentine, and she could easily have thought it to be a slender black snake if she hadn't taken a closer look. How odd. Perhaps it was her father's magical crest - it certainly did not come from the Blacks.

Bellatrix coughed weakly, and Matron Charon jumped. She'd forgotten about the Death Eater...not a wise thing to do. Shaking her head, she handed the baby to her mother. "Here you are, dear. A beautiful little girl."  
"A girl?" Bellatrix whispered, taking the child gently. Her trembling hand gently stroked the baby's head, smoothing the curls down flat. "She's beautiful."

The Matron was startled. Was the depraved monster actually sounding maternal? Annoyed with herself, she pulled a fresh sheet of parchment from her desk, and poised her quill above it. "Her name?"

Bellatrix thought quickly. Every Black in her family tree had been named after a star, but she couldn't think of any she liked. Then a name popped into a head, the name of a minor planet she had studied in Astronomy. "Her name shall be...Artemis. Artemis Narcissa Riddle." Her master had told her his real name, and though she had never heard of a House of Riddle, it had to be an ancient and powerful house to have produced her master. Narcissa was the only family she was on speaking terms with, so it seemed only natural that she would name the child after her.

Matron Charon jotted down the time of birth - July 31st, 1:00 AM, and looked up. "The father's name?"  
Bellatrix bit her lip, and the Matron mistook her hesitation for ignorance. She put a question mark next to the Father space, and tucked away the parchment. "I'll be off then." She left to check on several other patients.

Bellatrix cradled the baby in her arms, mind whirring furiously. The woman's innocent question had suddenly revealed the dangers to her, dangers that she had not forseen. If she had had a son, the Dark Lord might have accepted the child, but he would never allow her to keep a daughter. The child would be killed, no doubt used in some other dark ritual to accentuate the Dark Lord's power. She imagined the body of her baby, slaughtered before it could grow up. That could not happen. She had to save her.

Artemis snuggled against her mother, and Bellatrix turned her head to one side to avoid splashing her with tears. Her arm suddenly throbbed in agony, and Bellatrix resisted the urge to scream. The Dark Lord was signalling that he would rescue her soon. By her calculations, she had until midnight to come up with a plan.

At half-past eleven she knew that there was only one course available to her. And she hated it with every bone in her body.


	5. Chapter 5

Children of Azkaban

Disclaimer: [insert witty disclaimer here]

Lily clutched at the jagged stone wall, tearing the skin off her palms. Blood dripped on the floor, but she ignored the sting, and concentrated on breathing. In. Out. In. Out.

When she thought of giving birth, a dirty cell in Azkaban was not the place she had imagined the process taking place in. She wanted her child to be born in a clean hospital room, preferably with the father holding her hand, and a nurse helping her. But she had none of those things. The Prison Matron was busy with another birth, there would be no time to move her to the hospital wing even if any guards were about, and James was filing for divorce.

She dimly heard shouts, and saw brightly coloured lights that could only come from battle spells. Was Azkaban being attacked? Who would have the strength to do that? And why weren't the Dementors swooping in to repel the invaders?  
If Lily had been thinking clearly, she would probably have known the answers to those questions. But the months in Azkaban had taken their toll on her, and her mind was clouded into a tangled mess. All she could really think about was getting the baby out of her.  
In. Out. In. Out.

* * *

Rodolphus Lestrange examined the prison. He had flown there, along with fifty other Death Eaters, ready to free their comrades. The wards had been difficult to get through, but their ward specialist had exploited a weak spot, enabling them to slip onto the island. Their spy in the staff had reported that every week, the Dementors would leave the building to feast on a number of unfortunates sentenced to be Kissed. This was their once chance to break in. If they messed it up, the Dark Lord's wrath would be horrible, and they might not survive it.

They walked slowly up the gravel path, wincing as the stones crunched beneath their feet. The heavy double oak doors were very difficult to open, but a barrage of sickly yellow Bludgeoning Hexes soon took care of that problem.

They swished their wands carefully as they entered, making a complex pattern which melted the silver bars from each cell. Whooping gleefully, the prisoners tumbled out, looking like ragged beasts with their claw-like hands and hungry eyes. One of the Death Eaters led them off to search for wands, while Rodolphus left the group, and searched for his wife.

* * *

"Bellatrix!"

Bellatrix looked up. Her husband was standing in the hospital doorway, his matted locks falling around his face like dark seaweed. "The Dark Lord has sent us to get you and the others out, but we don't have much time! The Dementors are going to come back from feeding time any second now!"

Bellatrix clambered off the hospital bed she was lying on, wincing slightly. The birth had not been easy on her, and all she wanted to do was lie in bed for hours. But that was certainly not an option.  
Rodolphus scanned the room, checking for anyone skulking in the shadows. His grey eyes caught sight of a tiny form lying in a hospital cot. "What's that?"

Bellatrix didn't glance back. "It's nothing."

She and Rodolphus darted away, dodging spells and helping their injured comrades. Almost every Death Eater had been freed, and soon they would be ready to wage war on the Ministry again. Their master would be pleased.

Back in the hospital wing, Artemis stirred, her pale face barely visible in the darkness of the unlit room. Her mouth opened and she began to cry for her mother, the hungry whimpers echoing throughout the prison, and making even the most demented prisoners wince.

Bellatrix heard her daughter's screams. She shuddered as they tore into her heart, and her resolve almost shattered. But then she steeled herself, and pressed forward with the others. If Artemis was discovered by her comrades, then the consequences would be horrific, for both Bellatrix and her child. Artemis would just have to fend for herself.

Blood covered the floor of Lily's cell, and it was soaking into her body, turning her silver hair into something close to its original colour. Lily's voice had long since gone hoarse from screaming, and all she could do now was moan softly, and pray for it to be over soon.

Eventually, at 11:59 on July 31st, Harry Evans was born into the world. His messy black hair was all over the place, and he was covered in blood, but as Lily held him in her weak arms, she could not imagine anything more beautiful. He was like a tiny James, except for his eyes. They were a deep sea-green, and reminded her of sparkling emeralds, the kind that are always securely locked away in jewellery shops.

She smiled as he lay in her arms, already asleep. She remembered reading somewhere, long ago, that babies needed a lot more sleep than adults. How strange...she felt very tired too. Her vision was darkening, and all the screaming seemed to have ceased. Lily slumped back, and looked down at her son. "Sleep well, Harry."

Her eyelids fluttered closed, and her head drooped. For a few minutes, her rasping breath filled the cell, while her chest rose and fell weakly. Then the sound faded away, leaving a dreadful silence in its wake.

Harry woke up feeling very hungry. He began to cry for attention, but nothing would answer him.

Nothing except the cries of another child five cells away.

* * *

Matron Charon stalked through the twisting halls of Azkaban, feeling both scared and relieved. The attack that had happened a few hours ago had injured many, but only two guards had died. They had tried to stop some Death Eaters from leaving, and had paid the price of their foolishness. Really, what were they expecting to achieve by taking on five Death Eaters, who were all armed and ready? No doubt they'd been sorted into Gryffindor at Hogwarts.

Shaking her head, she continued through the prison, checking on the wounded, and repairing broken masonry. While she did so her mind wandered, thinking of the baby lying in the hospital wing.

Bellatrix Lestrange was a Death Eater, but even so, the Matron couldn't understand why anyone would want to abandon their child like that. The baby would have nowhere else to go, so it would have to stay with her until a place could be found for it. With the war going on, that could take months, or even years.


	6. Chapter 6

Children of Azkaban

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

* * *

Matron Charon stalked through the twisting halls of Azkaban, feeling both scared and relieved. The attack that had happened a few hours ago had injured many, but only two guards had died. They had tried to stop some Death Eaters from leaving, and had paid the price of their foolishness. Really, what were they expecting to achieve by taking on five Death Eaters, who were all armed and ready? No doubt they'd been sorted into Gryffindor at Hogwarts.

Shaking her head, she continued through the prison, checking on the wounded, and repairing broken masonry. While she did so her mind wandered, thinking of the baby lying in the hospital wing.

Bellatrix Lestrange was a Death Eater, but even so, the Matron couldn't understand why anyone would want to abandon their child like that. The baby would have nowhere else to go, so it would have to stay with her until a place could be found for it. With the war going on, that could take months, or even years.

Sighing, the Matron turned a corner. This was where the murderers were kept, such as Macnair, Rosier, and the infamous Lily Evans. The poor witch had lost most of her beauty, but when you looked at her, you could still see the girl she once was. It was a pity that the Ministry no longer used truth-potions on prisoners- she would dearly love to hear just what happened on the night that Lily was accused of slaughtering the Hogwarts Nurse.

Most of the cell bars had been melted into puddles of silver goo, with the prisoners they had once held now long gone. She sighed in relief when she saw that the bars on Lily's cell were still intact, and hurried forward to check on the witch. But when she reached the cell, she gasped, and a tear rolled down her check.

Blood was everywhere in the cell, on the floor, on the walls, on the ceiling. Lily Evans was slumped against the wall, her green eyes open and unseeing. Blood covered the cell like a thick red carpet, and she winced at the bitter-sweet smell that floated around in the air. Steeling herself, the witch opened the door and moved in. What could have happened? No one seemed to have come in, and there were no wounds on Lily's body. So what had...

Ah.

Lying against Lily was a baby. A little boy with midnight black hair and sparkly green, curious eyes. He was soaked in blood, his mother's blood, but appeared to be perfectly healthy. As she approached, he opened his mouth and began wailing hungrily.  
She scooped him up and checked him over, feeling relief flood through her when she saw that he was not in any immediate danger. Swiftly casting a preserving charm on the corpse, she rushed back to the hospital, the child in her arms.

Artemis had finally gone quiet, and was now watching the Matron with curious eyes, as if she knew that another baby was in the room, and wanted to see it. Quickly, Matron Charon conjured up another cot, complete with soft blankets and a pretty mobile hanging over it. Artemis looked indignant, something that she thought newborns incapable of doing, and the guilty nurse transfigured Artemis's iron crib into something more comfortable.

She carefully held Harry at arm's length before performing a quick Scourgrify. The dried blood on the baby vanished, and the messy hair looked a bit neater, but not much. The infant giggled happily, and waved his arms around. The Matron chuckled, and picked up her wand again. The spell she was going to use now was something often performed on abandoned babies to determine their parentage - it basically showed their memories from the moment they were born to the moment the spell was cast. It was very useful, but could only be deployed on a child under a year old - if the child was too old, the information could damage the casters brain.

She examined the information flooding from the infant to her brain, smiling sadly as she heard Lily Evan's pain-wrecked voice naming her son Harry. It was a nice name. A cheerful name.

Artemis began crying again, and the Matron reprimanded herself for not feeding the child sooner. She gently laid Harry in the cot she had conjured, and hurried to the other end of the hospital wing. Pushed against one wall was an old fashioned black stove, over sixty years of age, but polished and maintained beautifully. She stoked up the coals, and began to pour milk into a saucepan for heating. Most of the magical population would have scoffed at her for using such an ancient Muggle contraption, but she found it comforting to sit by her stove when the air turned chilly, and sip a cup of hot chocolate. It brought back good memories.

When the milk was at a comfortable temperature, she poured it into two baby bottles, and plugged the infants' hungry mouths with them, chuckling a little as Artemis began to suck at her bottle frantically, her cheeks swollen with milk. She loved children.  
The small clock hanging on the far wall chimed, and the Matron quickly pulled the cots' blankets over the infants, and cast two Sleeping charms. The babies were soon fast asleep, like little angels. Little dark-haired, snow-pale angels.

Smiling, she walked into her office where her bed was, and extinguished the light that was glowing next to her bed. "Goodnight."

Soon everyone in the hospital wing was asleep, unlike the tormented souls who had failed to escape, amid were now being severely punished by the Dementors. But that didn't trouble them - the babies didn't have a clue of what was happening, and the Matron couldn't care less. To be sent to Azkaban, you had to commit VERY dark crimes, and those shrieking prisoners were just reaping what they sowed.

Just inches apart from one another, the daughter of the Dark Lord and the son of a prominent Light Wizard slept, not knowing that their parents would happily slaughter the child next to them, not knowing that throughout Azkaban, Dementors were flocking close to the hospital wing, drawn by the thick magic in the air, and not knowing that, in years to come, James Potter would look back at that day and sob his heart out.

They would know all of that later. But for now, the children of Azkaban slept.

**What do you think? Please review!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Children of Azkaban**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

'Human language.'

_*Dementor language.*_

* * *

James ran a hand through his messy hair, and examined his reflection. He looked the epitome of a dashing Light Wizard, ready to charge in and save the day. Beyond the bathroom he was primping in, was the master bedroom of Potter Manor. In that lay Alice Potter, previously Alice Longbottom. Frank Longbottom had been killed in a Death Eater raid seven months ago, just before his wife found out that she was pregnant.

The baby had been born yesterday, on July 31st. James had held Alice's hand as she went through the labour pains, and when baby Neville had been born, he couldn't have been prouder if the child had been his own. He would make sure that Neville Potter-Longbottom would have everything that he could ever want, to make up for not having a true father.

He glanced up at the section of wall next to the mirror. There was a faint white square, where once a picture of Lily and him at their graduation had hung. He snarled at the empty space, and turned around. He had destroyed every picture that contained that traitorous snake. He needed no reminder of her betrayal, or the nagging feeling that it was somehow his fault.

To prevent anyone from taking the corpse to use as an Inferi (Body-snatching had become quite common with the rise of Voldemort) Dumbledore had set guards to watch over Madame Smith's corpse before burial. James had sat with the body for a while, and he had felt responsible in a twisted way. He had known that Lily had possessed a few signs of darkness, but he hadn't revealed her. Now Madame Smith was dead because of his mistake.

When he had arrived at Hogwarts, James had known that he was going to have fun. He had met Sirius Black, a prankster after his own heart, Remus Lupin, a quiet, studious boy with a good sense of humour, and Peter Pettigrew, who they'd rescued from a bunch of older bullies, and it looked to be the start of a beautiful friendship.

There were two others who had caught his attention. The first was the hook-nosed, overgrown bat who went by the name of Severus Snape. The greasy haired scumbag, obviously destined for Slytherin, had insulted both James and the Noble House of Potter, something that could not go unavenged, and so James commissioned himself to making Snape's life pure hell. But while Severus was ugly and cold, the witch that came in with him was anything but.

Lily had wavy red hair that spilled over her shoulders, like the silken hangings around his bed in Gryffindor Tower, or the flowing dresses that his mother and her friends wore. Her eyes were a dazzling emerald green, her skin was soft ivory, and her lips were a rose-pink. James had gained a crush on her as soon as she emerged from the crowd of first-years at the sound of "Evans, Lily" and sat on the rickety wooden stool, the Sorting Hat sitting jauntily on her head.

Her Sorting had taken an unusually long time, but she eventually ended up in Gryffindor. It was only later, after they had been dating for ages, that she had revealed that she was almost Sorted into Slytherin. James had almost broken it off there and then, but the fact that she had turned to Gryffindor was enough to convince him to stay. He bitterly regretted it now - she had almost been sorted into the house of dark snakes, and he had trusted her still. His foolishness had cost a life.

Lily must have been more of a Slytherin than James thought. Of course she would have turned to the Dark to save her own hide. In battle, she had never been averse to using some less than savoury curses to deal with her enemies, but he had put it down to wanting to protect innocents. Now, he realized that she had in fact wanted to prove herself to the Death Eaters, show that she was worthy to be branded like cattle.  
But the most obvious sign was when she tried to pin the blame on Peter. Only a Death Eater would be so low as to blame their crimes on a man who wouldn't hurt a fly. That was truly disgusting, and it had been the moment when he knew that there was no way that Lily could be saved. She deserved her fate, every bit of it.

James sighed. No use crying over spilt milk. The important thing was that Lily was locked away, where she couldn't do anymore harm. The thought cheered him up a bit, and he turned back to his beauty routine.

James rubbed a hair-potion into his scalp, designed to make his famous black hair smooth and silky. Every day he performed this act, in order to maintain his dazzling good looks. Even though he was no longer single, he had to make an effort for the ladies.  
Suddenly there was a tapping at the window, and he turned to see a pure white owl at the window, a black envelope clutched in its talons. James scowled. There was only one place on Earth that used white owls - Azkaban. A flock of pure white snowy owls had migrated there in the 1600s, and since then, they had become the prison's main form of communication.

He snatched the envelope away from the owl, who hooted disapprovingly before flying away into the blue morning sky. Stupid bird...  
James carelessly slit open the envelope. A thin piece of parchment tumbled out, covered in neat, spiky handwriting. He picked it up, hazel eyes scanning the page.

_Lord Potter_

_I regret to inform you that your ex-wife, Lily Evans, was found dead in her cell yesterday night. You may have heard that there was a raid on Azkaban by the followers of the Dark Lord, and therefore nobody checked upon the prisoners for some time, due to injuries sustained by our staff. During a check-up, Ms. Evans corpse was found, next to-_

A smile spread across James's face. Lily was dead. The bitch was finally gone, never to trouble or hurt anyone ever again. Maybe one of her comrades had mistaken her for a guard, and shot her dead. He silently cheered for whoever was responsible.

Smirking, he screwed up the letter and tossed it into the bin before walking out of the bathroom to share the good news with Alice.  
If he had only read a bit further down the letter, he would have learned just how Lily died, and the fact that he had a son. But in his joy over Lily's death, he didn't bother to read any further, thus inadvertently causing a chain of reactions that would change his happy little biased world forever.


	8. Chapter 8

Children of Azkaban

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

* * *

The Matron sighed as she looked out of the window at the cloudy sky above. It had been over a month since she owled James Potter about his son, but she had received no reply. The owl had definitely got the letter to him, but he had not given her an answer as to when he wanted to pick the child up. Apparenty he didn't want to know his son. By law, if a Lord of an Ancient House rejected his offspring, then they were not allowed to go near him unless he wanted them to. Such was the bigotry of purebloods who didn't like the thought of having rivals for their leadership positions around.

She turned around, and gazed sadly at the infants in the playpen. They had just learned to crawl, and were happily exploring the world, treating everything they came across as something to be puzzled over and played with. Currently, Artemis was batting around with a teddy bear that the Matron had knitted, and Harry was trying to catch a low-powered Snitch with his tiny hands. He seemed to find it amusing to catch the golden ball, look at it for a moment, then set it free. The child would be a great Seeker one day.

She reached for the baby bottles that populated the table besides the play-pen, and the babies started wailing. It was as if they knew what was coming, and wanted to make sure that they were fed first.

Matron Charon picked up Artemis, and put the thick bottle to her lips. The baby began to suck greedily at it, and as the Matron rocked her softly, she wondered what she should do.

As the daughter of Bellatrix Lestrange, Artemis would no doubt be very powerful, and for that reason many pure-blooded families would be seeking to get their hands on her and the Lestrange fortune. The Matron had searched Bellatrix's family records, and discovered that both Bellatrix's husband and brother-in-law were convicted Death Eaters, on the run from the law. Her sister was a Malfoy, and they had been labelled 'Suspicious' by the Ministry, so it was unlikely that they could adopt Artemis. Sirius Black, her only other living relative, had been disowned by the House of Black, and therefore unable to adopt a child from a member of it.

In short, Artemis had no one. She'd be staying at Azkaban for a long time, and it looked like Harry would be too. The thought made her blood boil. She was quite happy to look after the dear little things, but they didn't deserve to grow up in this place, with those vile Dementors and insane prisoners. If she ever saw James Potter, she'd give him a good piece of her mind about abandoning helpless children!

In the playpen, Harry started to giggle as the Snitch darted from his hands. Artemis joined in, and soon the hospital wing was filled with laughter, something pretty much unheard of in Azkaban.

The Matron looked at the smiling infants, and felt her resolve harden. If no one wanted these children, then fine. Their loss. She had always wanted grandchildren, but after her son had been killed over twenty years ago, such a thing had seemed impossible. But now she had a chance to raise children again, and she wasn't going to ruin it.

Suddenly, a cold chill seeped through the air. The Matron turned to see a Dementor hovering in the doorway, its hooded head fixed on the children.  
Furious, she put down Artemis, and flapped her hands. "Get out! Shoo!"

The Dementor did not move. She gritted her teeth, and raised her wand. "EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

A silvery lioness jumped from her wand, and growled threateningly at the dark creature. It hissed, but turned around and floated away. The Matron shook her head, frowning. The Dementors had been coming into the wing at any moment possible lately, and she was getting tired of driving them out. They could harm the children, and she had to be on red-alert at all times in case one drifted in without her noticing.

Behind the worried Matron, Harry and Artemis felt confused, wondering why she had driven away the big black thing. It had only wanted to play, and they wanted to play with it! Very puzzled, the babies fell asleep, while the Matron kept a wary eye on the doorway.


	9. Chapter 9

Children of Azkaban

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

* * *

James opened his eyes blearily. What was going on? The last thing he remembered was fighting as Deaths Eaters swarmed into Potter Manor...Someone had hit him from behind...Where was he?

He blinked, and the room swam into focus. He was chained up in a dungeon, his body suspended a few inches above the slimy floor. Alice was in one corner, gagged and bound by thick black ropes. Neville was whimpering next to her, a nasty bruise on his cheek. Besides Neville was a small cauldron, a thick red liquid bubbling inside it.  
"Ah. You're finally awake, Mr. Potter."

James glared at the figure standing in front of him with disgust. He had never seen the man before, but the descriptions of him were unmistakable. He was tall and thin, like a skeleton, while his skin was snow-white, without a single blemish. It stretched taunt over his skull-like face, with it's gleaming red eyes and slits for nostrils. James felt a shiver of disgust as he looked at him. What kind of dark magic would you have to practice to mutilate your body like that? "Voldemort."

The dark lord smirked, and lifted his wand. "Your tongue is not worthy to speak my name, Muggle-lover. _Crucio_!"

James screamed and writhed as the pain curse shot through him. It was complete agony, as if every nerve in his body had been set on fire. Voldemort laughed coldly, before turning to Neville, who stared back at him curiously. "As if this brat could one day rival me. But just to clear the prophecy, I must dispose of you. _Crucio_!"

Neville screamed, and Alice thrashed in her chains. "LET HIM GO, YOU MONSTER! HE'S ONLY FIVE MONTHS OLD!"

James struggled against his bindings, and Voldemort waved his wand, creating a barrier around the two to prevent them escaping. He then turned to Neville to finish him off. But Neville had crawled over to the cauldron to escape the nasty man, and was huddling against it, utterly terrified. But the cauldron wasn't fixed down, and the weight of the rather chubby baby tipped it over, sending the liquid splashing all over the room. James and Alice were shielded by the barrier Voldemort had created, but their captor wasn't so lucky.

The potion was a nasty blend of several acids, which Voldemort had planned to torture his victims with, by forcing them to dip their bodies in it. But his weapon turned against him, as it splashed over him, swiftly dissolving the flesh and bones. Voldemort fell to the floor screaming as the acid into his body, which was weakened by many magical rituals. Soon there was nothing left of the famed dark lord but a small black puddle on the floor.

Just then, the door to the dungeon crashed open, and in came Dumbledore, followed by several Aurors. "James? Are you alright? Where's Tom?"

James, numb with relief, told the story. The twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes increased until it was almost blinding. He lifted up Neville, who had been protected from the acid by the cauldron, and freed Alice from her chains with a flick of his wand. "James, Alice, come with me. There are things we need to discuss."

James was reeling from the information the Headmaster had told him. A prophecy? Neville being the Chosen One? Destined to defeat Voldemort, who was not actually dead?

"You realize that, of course, Neville will need training" said Dumbledore, who was watching them closely. James puffed out his chest. "Of course we'll train him! He's the Chosen One, he needs care and attention!"

Dumbledore nodded, pleased. "I will speak to Kingsley and Alastor. I'm sure that they'll be more than happy to-"

The door to his office burst open, and an Auror came running in. "Albus, we just caught a Death Eater lurking in You-Know-Who's headquarters. I think you need to see him. You too, James."

Looking puzzled, they followed him to the Ministry, where a number of prisoners were being interviewed. The Auror led them to a holding cell, and tapped it with his wand. "Auror Jenkins, requesting an entrance to Ministry Cell 519."

"Permission granted" said a cool female voice, and the door opened. James walked into the cell, and gasped.

Peter was sitting at the table, shackled to his chair. His rat-like face was twisted in fear, and he kept glancing about, searching for a way to escape. As James and Dumbledore came in with the Auror, he squealed in terror. "James! I'm innocent! I was framed!"

"Don't try to lie, Pettigrew!" said the Auror, glaring at him. "We found the mark on your arm, and your wand showed that you have committed over ten Unforgivables in the last two hours alone! But seeing as I'm a fair man, I've brought some Veritaserum. We'll see how innocent you are now!"

He uncorked a bottle of clear liquid, and forced Peter to gag three drops of it down. When he was finished, he stepped back, and motioned at Dumbledore. "You can ask him about his crimes, sir." Normally, this wouldn't be allowed, but as Dumbledore was the Supreme Mugwump, he was allowed to question prisoners when he saw fit to do so.

"What's your name?"

"Peter Damien Pettigrew."

"Are you a Death Eater?"

"Yes."

"How long have you been a Death Eater?"

"Two years."

"How many crimes did you commit as a Death Eater?"

"I killed two Muggle women to be granted the mark. I have taken part on many raids, and killed a large number of Muggles with numerous Unforgivables. I participated in the torture of Edgar Bones, and I killed his wife, Emily Bones. I also killed Madame Smith, and framed Lily Potter for her death."

James went pale, and Dumbledore stared at Pettigrew. "Explain!"

"I was ordered to kill someone, anyone, in the castle, to prove that it wasn't as safe as you thought. I murdered Madame Smith when she met me on the third floor corridor. Lily turned up just after I killed her, and tried to stop me from escaping. I stunned her, and cast a temporary skin tattoo of the Dark Mark on her, so that you'd think she was a Death Eater, and had killed Madame Smith. It worked even better than I thought it would."

James slumped to the floor, sobbing with grief. Dumbledore gave Pettigrew a look of disgust, and turned to comfort James, while the Auror descritely stunned Pettigrew with a little more force than necessary. After a brief trial in the courtroom, Peter was sentenced to Azkaban for life, and promptly sent over there. Unfortunately, he tried to escape on the way, and was hit with over twenty stunners, after which his heart gave out. Rather than bother on a funeral, the Aurors transformed his body into fish food, and chucked it over the side.


	10. Chapter 10

**Children of Azkaban**

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, I'm just jealous! :D

* * *

Years passed, and the memory of Lily faded into James's mind, until he sometimes had trouble recalling that he had been married to her. But on Azkaban, she was remembered, even though it was by someone who had only met her for five minutes before she died. Matron Charon always took Harry down to his mother's grave every week, often with Artemis in tow. They would stand in silence for a few minutes, and perhaps lay some flowers down next to the tombstone. When Harry turned five, he started to go down to the grave on his own, and neither 'Aunty Charon' or Artemis followed him, knowing that Harry needed to be alone at those times.

Growing up in Azkaban had changed both Harry and Artemis. The once cheerful babies quickly turned cold and aloof, only really happy when they were either with each other, or their adopted auntie. If anyone else, whether it be a guard or a prisoner, tried to talk to them, they were met with a cold stare, and more often than not, a snide remark.

The Dementors however, were a different matter. The Ministry didn't really know much about the creatures that guarded Azkaban, only that they had been on the island long before humanity, and that of course, they were soul-sucking, memory-feasting versions of the feared Lethifold. But apart from that, they knew nothing.

One of the many things they didn't know about was that Dementors had their own type of magic, that did very funny things to a human's magic. After spending a few years in Azkaban, someone could have their magical core doubled in size, or be reduced to a Squib. Matron Charon had noticed a slight increase in her magic since she'd started to work at the prison, but decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth, and so never investigated it further.

But the effect it had on two very young children was quite different from anything else seen so far. The Dementor magic seeped into their flesh, warping their magic, until it contained more Dementor magic than human magic. This meant that they had difficulty casting spells that a first-year could perform with ease, as well as making it unlikely that they would ever be chosen by a wand. But the Dementor magic had benefits as well.

It took years for wizards to master Legilimency because their magic just wasn't designed for such a thing, meaning that they had to learn to twist it until it obeyed their command. But Dementors had the natural gift of Legilimency, which was how they were able to pull memories out of their victims' minds. After a few years, Harry and Artemis began to have an uncanny knowledge of what people were thinking when they looked into their eyes, something that delighted them greatly. They also found that using their gift seemed to nourish them, like a plain but plentiful meal. Soon, the prisoners dreaded Tuesdays, when Matron Charon served the children vegetable casserole. Harry and Artemis would chuck away the food, before sneaking down to the prisoner cells to 'feed' themselves. They grew more skilful at this as the years went past, but even so, their Legilimency probes were nowhere near as strong as Albus Dumbledore or Voldemort's, and could be deflected with good Occulemency shields.

Another talent that they had picked up from the Dementors was something Harry had dubbed 'shadow-shifting.' They had an ability to melt into the shadows, cloaking themselves in darkness, unable to be detected by all but the most powerful spells. This technique had been used by Dementors since the dawn of their race, as a way to sneak up on their prey, but few used it now, as the only prey they fed on nowdays were hardly in condition to run away, so they didn't need to sneak up on them. Harry and Artemis tended to use it whenever the most dreaded time of the week came up – bath time.

But the last talent, the one that they considered to be the best, was the ability to speak the language of the Dementors. The strange words had melanchony accents to them, and had to be half-whispered, half sung in order to be comprehensible. Not only that, but the Dementors almost never answered them when they talked, fearing the humans who spoke their language. But the fact was, Harry and Artemis had a code that no other human could understand. Whenever they were plotting mischief they always spoke with Dementor words, and Aunty Charon learned quickly to be wary when she heard them speak that chilling tongue.

Despite the older Dementor's uneasiness around the children, the younger wraiths were quite happy to let them play, and soon both Harry and Artemis were more comfortable around them than they were around humans, and only Aunty Charon tied them to their own kind.

The guards at the prison noticed that there were two children running around that shouldn't be, and told the Warden about it. For two weeks, he observed Harry and Artemis, talked to Matron Charon, and interviewed the prisoners. He quickly came to the conclusion that (A: His very capable Matron would leave if he tried to send them away and (B: they were acting like human Dementors, saving him the trouble of bargaining with the Dementor Leaders for more of their people. Really, it wasn't hard to see how the current situation was at an advantage for him, and so he told his guards to quite simply look the other way when it came to the children. When they protested, he asked if they wanted two extra Dementors instead, quickly silencing any objections. Therefore neither the Light or Dark sides had any idea that the children existed, and the Warden planned to keep it that way for as long as possible.


	11. Chapter 11

Children if Azkaban

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. ?

* * *

Sunshine streamed through the windows of the room, lighting up the area in a way that no lamp could, making the room seem magical. It was a rather small room, but obviously the owner was well-cared for. A soft bed with a broomstick patterned blanket was pushed in one corner of the room, while an open cupboard next to it contained quite a few cuddly toys. The walls were a dingy grey while the floor was comprised of rough flags, but overall, it was a rather comfortable area. Strangely, the room was on the top floor of Azkaban, where most of the cells were dilapidated, barely capable of holding a Flobberworm. Thanks to Ministry budget-cuts, none of the cells had ever been replaced, and this floor was pretty much left alone.

It was in this abandoned area of Azkaban that Harry and Artemis slept, in individual cells that Aunty Charon had helped to make more comfortable. Despite the rooms' warm appearances, they only really came in it when it was time for bed, preferring to spend their time exploring or causing mischief, both activities in which they excelled at. They knew every inch of the island, from the tallest, oldest tower to the darkest, most cramped cellar, from the rock-pools at the front of the beach to the hundreds of graves in the ghostly cemetery at the back. Azkaban was their kingdom, and everyone in the prison with half a mind knew it.

On this particular day, nine-year-old Harry was fast asleep, head lolling on his pillow. His messy black hair framed his pale face with its strong features, while his eyelids hid his dazzling emerald irises, which had a hypnotic quality to them when he was awake, luring in all who saw him with his captivating gaze. Aunty Charon often remarked how unusual his eyes were - most of the magical population in Britain had blue or grey eyes, with the exception of the dark Blacks.

As Harry slumbered, a shadow loomed over his bed, covering him with darkness. A hand reached for his face, fingers outstretched, the nails sharp and glinting. The hand was poised above him, ready to slash downwards and hit his face...

But before it could, Harry's eyes flickered open. He rolled out of bed, smashing into the hand's owner, who let out a startled yelp as they plunged to the floor. After a brief struggle, Harry pinned them down, and smirked.

"Hah! I win again, Artemis!"

The girl beneath him wriggled, a sour expression on her face. "Whatever! I win more than you do!"

"In your dreams, maybe."

"Ha! You wish!"

"I don't wish, scar-arm. I _know_."

Artemis stuck her tongue out at him, and shoved him off her. He grinned, running a hand through his messy hair, before switching to the Dementor tongue. "*What do you wanna do?*"

She thought for a moment, her dark eyes narrowed in concentration. _"*Breakfast*?"_

_"*Food or prisoners*?"_

_"*Food*."_

_"*Okay*."_

They darted out of his room, looking around the corners as they went. The prison guards tolerated them, but that didn't mean they weren't above giving the eerie children a kick in the ribs as they passed them. Even if they went running to Aunty Charon, there wasn't much she could do to the guards. So they took their revenge at night, when the guards were sleeping. It was easy to terrify them, by imitating the sounds of a Dementor, and leaving messages scrawled in red ink across the walls. Childish, but it was fun to see the guards trembling in their rooms, eyes darting about for invisible assailants.

They reached the hospital wing safely, and quickly ducked inside. They had used to sleep in there, before they grew too big, and they still visited it every day. Aunty Charon was always happy to see them, and it was a good opportunity for breakfast.  
Matron Charon turned to see the duo walk into her hospital wing, looking hopefully at the stove. She smiled, but inside she sighed at how wraith-like they were, so cold and dark. Azkaban was not a good place to raise children, but they had nowhere else to go.

"I suppose you want breakfast?" she asked, and Harry nodded. "Pleeeeeeeeeeeaaase, Aunty Charon?"

Artemis copied him, her eyes looking uncommonly like a puppy's. "Pretty please with a cherry on top!"  
The old woman laughed. "All right! I'll whip up some egg and bacon."

Satisfied, the children sat down, and the Matron took the opportunity to study them as she fried some eggs in a black pan. Artemis was beautiful, of that there could be no doubt. She had thick black curly hair that cascaded down her back, a result of never letting anyone near her with a pair of scissors, with eyes so dark that it was hard to tell the pupil from the irises. Her eyebrow were dark and arched, while her eyelashes were so long that they swept her cheeks. Her skin was like porcelain, smooth and delicate, contrasting sharply with her dark hair.

But if you looked closer, you could see flaws in her beauty. Artemis was painfully thin, her cheeks rather hollow, her shoulder blades jutting out under her black shirt. Shadows curved under her eyes, while on her right arm, a long puckered scar ran from her elbow to her wrist, red against the white skin. She had received it from a nervous prison guard, who had seen her coming down a hallway and fired a barrage of spells without thinking. Only the Matron's skill had kept her from losing use of the arm.

Harry also had black hair and pale skin, but his eyes were a dazzling emerald green, seeming to gaze into your soul when he looked at you. His eyesight had been rather poor when he was born, but the Matron had managed to take care of that with a few spells. He was taller and more sturdy that Artemis, though he was still rather thin for his age. His hair was always very messy, and no comb could tame it, though some hair charms kept it under a small amount of control. Unlike Artemis, he preferred to nourish himself on human memories rather than physical food, which worried the Matron a little. She knew that if it wasn't for Artemis's taste for human food, Harry would never feed on good, wholesome food, and it seemed that every time he fed from memories, he grew more unlike a human, and further towards a strange mix between mortal and Dementor.

She shook herself free of those thoughts. It would do no good to dwell on such things. Even if Harry did forsake his humanity, at least Artemis would be along with him, as she had always been. The duo had never really seemed to need anyone but each other, and they probably wouldn't care what anyone else thought about their half-wraith, half-human state.

Even so, she knew that there was one man responsible for Harry's state, and that was James Potter. By refusing to take Harry in, he had condemned his son to turn into this cold creature, and if he didn't like it, then tough.


	12. Chapter 12

Children of Azkaban

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

* * *

Three years later:

At Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, all was calm. Madame Pomfrey was bustling around in the hospital wing where Madame Smith had once worked, Professor McGonagall was chasing some mice in cat form, and Hagrid was tending to a hurt Bowtruckle. Eleven years had passed since the murder of Madame Smith, and the school had slowly but surely recovered.

In the Headmaster's sumptuous office, Albus examined the device that was whirring on his desk, nodding with approval. The device searched for any magic performed by children under eleven, and then scrolled out the information. This device had a range that covered every inch of Britain, and it was this that told him who was coming to Hogwarts this year.

At the top of the list was the name of Neville Potter-Longbottom, the Chosen One. Every time he heard that name, he could not help but smile, for it showed just how clever he had been. Neville was a tad arrogant, and not as powerful magically as he would have hoped, but all in all, he was shaping up to be a perfect little Gryffindor. No doubt he would help Albus with keeping down the Slytherins, and making sure that the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs toed the line.

Though he maintained a kindly grandfather image, Albus was in fact a Grand Chess Master, as Grindleward had dubbed him in their youth, and the magical world's population were his pawns, helping him to win the game, but easily discarded. To his way of thinking, there was nothing wrong with that. His father's use of dark magic had torn their family apart, and he was determined that darkness would not do the same to the wizarding world, no matter what he had to do.

As Headmaster of Hogwarts, he held a large influence on the children of the wizarding world, and he made sure that they knew, from the second they stepped into his school, just who was in charge. He turned the Light children away from the Dark children, taught them that, as long as they obeyed him they would keep out of trouble, and firmly discouraged any romances between different houses. If there were any inter-house marriages then the children would have a broader view of the world, something that he simply couldn't allow. Best nip those relationships in the bud, while he still had a chance.

Suddenly, the device began to splutter, spinning around and around, black ink spurting out of it at an alarming rate. Then, just as Albus was reaching for his wand, it exploded, covering his office with sticky black goo. Dumbledore stared at it in shock. Why on earth had it done that? Surely the charms around it should have made sure that it didn't malfunction...

Sighing, he walked over to the fire-place, ready to Floo to the Ministry, and request a Charms expert to help him cast spells to mimic the device, and hopefully find out what had caused it's destruction.

The Charms expert was unable to determine what had caused the device to explode, and so Dumbledore resigned himself to using spells to find the next generation of witches and wizards. A pity - the device had belonged to the school for decades, and was quite expensive.

The device had exploded because of it had picked up a signal of young human magic on Azkaban. But the magic had been completely entwined with Dementor magic, and the pressure of trying to figure out whether it was human or wraith had caused the device to shut down and explode.

A pity Dumbledore had not bothered to investigate the situation, for if he had, he would have been able to discover Harry and Artemis early, and perhaps salvaged the situation. But he simply assumed that the device had malfunctioned due to it's age, and left it at that.

When he did find the duo eventually, he realized what had happened to the device, and why. By then, of course, it was far too late.

**Please review!**


	13. Chapter 13

**Children of Azkaban**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

**By the way, I am now a beta-reader and was wondering if anyone would like me to beta for them. I would be available on weekends and most weekdays (I am in high-school). Please PM me with responses. I can't wait to be someone's beta!** ?

* * *

Harry put one foot on the crumbling window-sill, wincing as the salty wind buffeted his slim body. Next to him was Artemis, her dark eyes filled with excitement as she looked across the grey sky, which promised a storm later. They were in Widow Tower, the tallest and oldest tower in Azkaban, its name coming from the only prisoner that had ever been imprisoned there. Mother Blackworth had been an extraordinarily ugly witch, but that hadn't stopped her from marrying nineteen husbands, all who died within a few months of marrying her. Eventually, her neighbour realised that she was dosing them with love-potions, and then poisoning them once they had left her all their money in their wills.

She was sentenced to Azkaban for three hundred years, but had died after just two months. Since then, no prisoners had been housed here, and the place had fallen into disrepair. The stone floor was cracked, moss growing out of the jagged holes, the ceiling was covered in thick grey spiderwebs, and there was a hole in the pointed roof, which meant that the room got soaked every time a storm came along, which was quite often. No one knew why there had been no attempts to repair it, though the Warden could be heard muttering about budget cuts, and then hissing out the name of Cornelius Fudge.

Some prisoners told tales of Mother Blackwort'sghost haunting the tower, gleaming eyes searching for a new husband to dose and kill. But neither child was interested in an insane hag who was long dead. What they cared about was the idea that Artemis had had, an idea that could end up with them splattered across the rocks of Azkaban. Harry still wasn't sure how she'd managed to convince him, but he had agreed to do it with her, and there was no backing out now.

He leaned forward, looking at the rocky ground hundreds of feet below. If this went wrong...  
Better not think about that.

Harry took a deep breath and jumped, Artemis only a second behind him. They tumbled towards the ground, and Harry gasped as he saw how quickly it was rushing up to meet them. There was only thirty feet left...Twenty...Ten...Five...  
"NOW!" Artemis yelled. Harry closed his eyes, and dug deep into his inner magical core, where his Dementor side emitted from. He allowed the wraith magic to fill his body, drenching him in a cold, icy feeling.

He felt his body dissolve into the shadows, crumbling into darkness at his mental command. Artemis whooped, and he saw that she too had 'shadow-shifted'. Harry felt a sense of profound relief as they safely floated to the ground, without a single scratch. He focused his thoughts into turning back, and soon he and Artemis were sitting in front of the tower, grinning like idiots.

Eventually, Harry's sense of euphoria vanished, and he glared at Artemis. "What were you thinking?"

Artemis grinned happily, and he felt a foreboding emotion deep in his stomach. "Let's do that again!"

* * *

The four tables in the great hall rippled with black-robed students, all craning their necks to look at the thin line of first-years waiting nervously to put on the ragged Sorting Hat. This year, everyone was excited, for Neville Potter-Longbottom, the Chosen One, had come to Hogwarts, and the school was rife with whispers on which House he would be sorted into.

Eventually, the Chosen One's name was called. He strode forward proudly, with not a hint of fear in his step. Professor McGonagall lowered the Sorting Hat onto his thick black hair, and Neville's rather plump face screwed up as he conversed with the sentient relic.

Minutes ticked by, and still the Hat did not speak. People began to shift uneasily, wondering what was taking so long. A third-year Ravenclaw whispered to her friends that the longest Sorting in history had taken over thirty minutes before the hat decided where the child would go. Neville had only been under the hat for seven, but then again, he was the Chosen One. Perhaps he would take longer.

In the end, he only took nine minutes. The hat's mouth-rip stretched into a frown. "I warn you. No matter what your parents say, you wouldn't do so well in that house." Neville grimaced, and the hat sighed. "Very well, but I warn you - you'll regret your choice later.

"Gryffindor!"

The red-and-gold house erupted into cheers, and Neville hurried to sit next to Percy Weasley, who made a big show of welcoming him to Gryffindor, unaware that the Chosen One was not listening. Neville was pondering the hat's words. What could possibly make him to regret his demand of being sorted into the lion's den? Both of his parents had been sorted in here, and they had gone on to achieve great things. And he was the Chosen One! There was no other house for him but the one that cherished courage and strength!

He decided that the hat had gone senile in its old age, and shook its words from his memory, unaware that in a few years he would look back, and curse himself for not taking its advice.


	14. Chapter 14

Children of Azkaban

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

* * *

Neville turned to Ron and Hermione, feeling puffed up with false bravery. "I don't care what you say, Hermione. Snape's working for Voldemort, and he's going after the stone tonight! If I don't stop him, no one will!"

Hermione bit her lip. "I suppose..."

Ron elbowed her. "Come on, Herms! If we don't, You-Know-Who will attack everyone!" That convinced her at last, and the trio headed off to the third floor.

Neville nodded to Hermione as Ron opened the door. Looking scared, but determined, the girl raised the roughly hewn flute that Hagrid had sent Neville for Christmas to her lips, and began to play. She'd be quite good, had Hagrid's craftsmanship been a little better, but even so, they managed to lull the dog to sleep. Neville kicked it as he passed, but then scrambled for the trapdoor as it began to stir, leaving Hermione up there. The terrified girl flung the instrument into the dog's face, and then threw herself down the trapdoor. Her timing was impeccable, as Neville and Ron were now wrestling with several vines intent on strangling them.

"Don't move! It's Devil's Snare!" Neville snarled at her. "Thanks for the information, bookworm! How about telling us how to kill it!" Too frightened to notice the insult, Hermione began to think out loud. "Devil's Snare, Devil's Snare...What did Professor Sprout say? It likes the dark, and it likes the damp..."

"So light a fire!" choked Ron as a vine wrapped itself around his ribcage. Hermione whipped out her wand, and fired a jet of bluebell fire at the plant, that cringed away from the boys. Breathing a sigh of relief, they moved on.

The next room was filled with hundreds of flying keys. Hermione examined the locked door to the next room. "I think that it'll be quite old-fashioned...probably made of silver." Neville turned to Ron, and pointed to the brooms hovering in one corner. "What are you waiting for? Catch that key!"

Looking unsure, Ron mounted a broom and kicked off. He sped through the air, his head whipping from side to side. "I can't see it!"

"There!" Hermione yelled, pointing to a key with bent wings. Ron dived after it, and managed to catch it in his fist. "I got it-"

But before he could say anything else, his grip on the broom slipped, and he fell off, plummeting to the stone floor. He hit the ground with a nasty crunch, and Hermione went white. "Do you think he's okay?"

Neville looked down at the unconscious boy. "Yeah - look, he's breathing. Come on!"

They managed to get past the chest board, but it cost Neville Hermione, who was struck down by the white queen in an attempt to save Neville. The Boy-Who-Lived left her crumpled form on the chessboard, and moved into the potion room. He picked up a scroll, and frowned at the words there:

_In order to move forward, you must choose carefully  
For one mistake, and you will suffer unbearably  
For a sip of Cauldron's nectar, choose the bottles red  
But for a way behind, choose the green bottle instead  
A painful demise awaits in the bottles blue  
But choose the black one, and the path ahead is true_

Neville stared at the seven bottles lined up in front of him - three large red bottles, two blue bottles of a similar size, a small green bottle, and an even smaller black bottle. He grimaced. If he ever got out of this, he would kill Snape for making such a hard riddle. Then again, if he got out of this, it would be by killing Snape anyway, for the greasy bat was trying to steal the Stone. He grinned to himself at the thought of getting rid of Snape, then concentrated on the riddle.

Now then...He knew that the Leaky Cauldron sold a vintage of wine called Celestial Nectar, which was probably what the riddle meant by 'Cauldron's Nectar'. He wasn't sure what demise meant, but it said 'painful', so he decided to avoid the blue bottles. That just left the green bottle and the black bottle. He looked between them. Hmmm. Suddenly, the prospect of confronting Snape, a powerful wizard that terrorized him during class, didn't seem like such a good idea. He made his decision, and reached for the green bottle. But to his horror, it slipped from his fingers, and shattered over the white tiles. The potion that had been contained within the bottles vanished into a puff of green smoke, leaving no chance of Neville being able to lick it up. He groaned, then reached for the black bottle, and chugged down the foul-tasting liquid before moving through the black flames.

To his surprise, Snape wasn't there. Instead, Quirrel stood in front of the mirror. Neville gasped. "You? You're after the stone?"

Quirrel's lips twitched into a smile. "So even the dullest of brains can figure it out. Yes, boy. I will take the stone, and use it to revive my master."

A voice echoed round the chamber, cold and high, and seemingly from nowhere. "Let me sssspeak to him."

Quirrell looked worried. "Master, you are not strong enough!"

The voice spoke again. "I am strong enough for thisss."

Quirrell reached up, and slowly unwrapped his turban. Neville was too scared to move, even if he could have done anything. He watched as the purple cloth fell away, then gasped in horror as Quirrell turned around, and a face was revealed to be sticking out of his head, a face withchalk-white skin, and red eyes with cat-like slitted pupils. "Neville Longbottom-Potter. We meet again."

"B-but I d-d-defeated you!"

"Foolish boy, as if you could ever hope to be a match for me! As soon as I have the stone, I will destroy Albus Dumbledore, and display your mangled corpses for the world to see!"

Neville couldn't speak, so frozen was he in terror. The thought of his own death seemed unnatural, something twisted and disorderly. He was supposed to be the Boy-Who-Lived! Not the Boy-Who-Didn't-Live-To-See-Twelve!

But then the door to the room burst open, sending the wood slamming against the cold stone wall. Standing in the doorway was Albus Dumbledore, cold fury in every line of his ancient face. His long snowy white hair whipped around him, like some obscene halo, and his garish robes were smoking slightly. He raised his wand, and Neville slumped into unconsciousness.


	15. Chapter 15

Children of Azkaban

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Harry darted across the bronze sands of Azkaban Beach, Artemis following behind him. It was a rare sunny day, and they intended to enjoy every bit of it.

If you asked a pure-blooded wizard what treasure was, they might come up with any answer. Perhaps they will say that it is the gold in their chests, the jewels sparkling in their display cases. Perhaps they will say it is the silk robes they wear, that so many house-elves exhaust themselves over, making sure that every scrap of lace is perfect. Perhaps they will say it is the manors they own, with the graceful towers and impenetrable stone walls.

But to the two teenagers racing across the beach, treasure was something different. Treasure was the arching azure sky, that unbroken slate of perfect blue. Treasure was the golden sunbeams turning the bronze grains of sand into shards of flashing scarlet, like millions of tiny rubies. Treasure was the waves lapping gently at the shore, the sun turning the water into different shades, oak-brown, galleon-golden, sapphire-blue, onyx-black...

Harry took a deep breath and plunged into the waves. The warm water closed over his head, and he opened his eyes, watching as a new world opened up to him. Mounds of skeletal coral were twisting through the water, while fast, sharp-toothed fish darted between the tangled fronds of leathery seaweed that littered the seabed. Harry swam down further, making faces at a curious black eel-like creature that was floating by his head.

There was a splash, and he looked up to see Artemis plunging down to join him. Her long black hair floated around her head, while her dark eyes were wide as she gazed upon the sights of the underwater world. Looking at her, Harry thought that Artemis resembled the mermaid that was in one of the story-books he had read as a young child. Not like the mermaids that he had seen before, with their pallid, fish-like faces and jagged teeth. He couldn't help but wonder if the author of the mermaid story would have been quite so descriptive of her 'exquisite rainbow tail' and 'silken raven locks' if he had seen the monsters that had spawned the mermaid legend.

Harry's lungs began to cry for air, and he swam upwards, bursting through the surface with a gasp of relief. But his happiness didn't last long, as Artemis grabbed his waist and yanked him back underwater, grinning impishly as he swallowed a mouthful of salty seawater. He came up again, spluttering, before diving back down, determined to make her pay for his ducking. He dragged her back up to the surface, and began to tickle her, ignoring her frantic cries for him to stop between bouts of laughter. Eventually, Harry stopped, and Artemis clung to him, letting the waves drift them back to the shore.

When they were eventually washed back up on the beach, they huddled together, shivering as the sun was hidden by a drifting cloud. Artemis snuggled against Harry's chest, while he had his arms around her, trying to protect her from the cold that was beginning to seep through the air. "Are you okay?"

She looked up at him, onyx eyes meeting emerald. "I'm f-fine." But her chattering teeth betrayed her words.  
Harry gently rubbed her arms, trying to generate warmth with the friction. Artemis yawned, showing her teeth, and laid her head down on his shoulder. He smiled, and leaned back, supporting her as she fell asleep against his chest.

If you asked Albus Dumbledore what he considered treasure, he might come up with any answer. He might say that it was the courage a person possessed, or their leadership skills. He might say that it was the loyalty that people have for their house. He might say that it is the strength of a united community.

But to Harry and Artemis, treasure was something different. Treasure was the person they were sitting next to. Treasure was the companion they could count on to never let them down, treasure was the only being apart from Aunty Charon that they trusted. For to them, there was nothing that they could value greater than each other.

Their companionship was the greatest treasure of all.


	16. Chapter 16

Children of Azkaban

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

* * *

"Children! Where are you?"

Harry and Artemis turned to see Aunty Charon beckoning at them to come into the hospital wing. Curious, Artemis slipped inside the room, and Harry followed her, wondering what was going on.

The elderly witch was standing next to a large square object covered by a cloth. Underneath it, something was squeaking. Aunty Charon smiled at them. "Now that you're fourteen, I think you're old enough to have a pet each."

Artemis looked very excited. "What kind of pet?" Behind her, Harry rolled his eyes. He really didn't see what she was so excited about. There weren't many animals around Azkaban, and he had never been interested in the ones that were, mainly because they tended to be vicious creatures.

Aunty Charon whipped off the cloth. Artemis's eyes went very wide, and an "Awwwwwwwwwww!" escaped from her mouth. Even Harry felt his heart melt a little at the sight of the creatures within the cage.

Inside the metal cage were two adorable animals. They were the size of a guinea-pig, and had a mouse-like face, with a bushy, squirrel-like tail. Their fur coats looked very soft, and Artemis was visibly restraining herself from stroking them. "Chinchillas!"

Aunty Charon nodded. "My great-niece has two of them, which just gave birth to a litter. She couldn't find homes for these two, so she sent them to me. Do you like them?"

Artemis nodded, staring in awe at the little creatures. One had beige/brown fur and caramel eyes that seemed to stare into your soul.

The other had silvery grey fur, with inquisitive black eyes. Artemis turned to Harry. "Which one do you want?"

Harry frowned as he considered the animals. He really didn't see what was so exciting about getting two rather useless, albeit adorable, rodents. But he knew that Artemis was excited about them, so he put on a fake smile, and pointed to the tan-coloured one.

"That one."

Artemis grinned, and picked up the other animal, cooing to it softly. Aunty Charon explained to her what she and Harry would have to do to make sure that the chinchillas lived happy, healthy lives. Artemis spent the whole lecture cuddling her new pet, and as soon as Aunty Charon stopped speaking, she patted the animal's head, and said "I'm going to call you...Misty!"

Aunty Charon smiled at her, and turned to Harry. "What are you going to call yours?"

Harry thought for a moment. What had caramel eyes, and tan fur/hair? He wanted to make the name meaningful, but he couldn't think of anything with that description. Then he thought of Aunty, and her short brown hair. Aunties middle name was Elena, and it seemed fitting to name the chinchilla who so resembled Aunty Charon after her.

He grinned mischievously. "Elena"

Harry smirked as he walked through the halls of Azkaban, the guards scuttling out of his way. At fourteen years old, his 'dementor aura' had grown significantly, along with Artemis's. Weaker people fainted as he came near, stronger people fell to their knees, and even powerful wizards thought that their end was nigh. They couldn't turn off the aura, but they could dampen it slightly at will, though people still felt faint when they came near them.

Elena was scampering next to him, and Harry smiled as he looked down at the animal. Far from being useless, the chinchillas had turned out to be enormously useful, in a way that Harry could never have imagined.

Unlike wizards, animals seemed to have no natural mind barriers. There was, after all, not much worth protecting in an animal's mind, and natural mental barriers had been built up as a evolutionary way of avoiding getting mind-raped. Didn't do much against powerful wizards, but they were still a form of defence.

As animals didn't have any mind barriers, Harry found that he could easily scan his pet's mind. Not only that, but as he was a very powerful dementor hybrid, he could maintain a mind-link for a short distance, allowing him to see through his pet's eyes as it explored, and give it simple mental orders to follow. That meant that he had and Artemis had their own personal spies - spies that could slip through most wards, as they were designed to keep away danger, and you could hardly call a chinchilla dangerous.

Really, the possibilities were enormous! He had discovered that the mind link range covered the entire island, meaning that he could view any part of the island from anywhere, as long as the chinchilla could reach it. And being a small, agile animal that could jump quite a height for its size, there were very few places that it couldn't get into. He could send it practically anywhere, and no one would notice it!

Suddenly, the sound of a deep, hacking cough filled the air. Harry frowned, and followed the sound, curious of its origin. To his horror, he found Aunty Charon in the hospital wing, bending over as she coughed into a white lace handkerchief. "Aunty Charon!"

The witch straightened up, and he gasped when he saw her. Her normally shining white hair was lank, her skin was pale, her eyes were sunken and she had grown very thin. He hadn't seen her in a while, but she had been perfectly healthy back then.

She smiled weakly. "Hello Harry. Don't worry. I just have a bit of a cough, that's all. I'll be fine soon." Harry wasn't so sure, but he didn't want to get into an argument with her, not when she looked so bad. He slipped away to find Artemis, and warn her of Aunty Charon's appearance so that she wouldn't be shocked when she saw the elderly witch.

Aunty Charon sighed as she gazed at the white handkerchief, now splattered with blood. She knew that it wasn't just a bit of a cough. The illness she had was a nasty one, which couldn't be cured by magic. She probably didn't have more than a few months left to live.

Sighing, the witch waved her wand, trying to make herself look a bit less like the walking dead. She would have to prepare the children for her eventual death. Hopefully, if they knew beforehand, it wouldn't come as such a blow.


End file.
